


Touch Me Like You Do

by WatchOverYourAssButt



Series: Woya's Ficlets [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caretaker Castiel, Castiel Caring For Dean, Depressed Dean, Destiel isn't heavy as its more focused on Dean receiving care, Hurt and comfort, M/M, Slight Warning for wounds/blood?, Wounded Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-05-25 12:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6194647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchOverYourAssButt/pseuds/WatchOverYourAssButt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rough case of Ghost Sickness takes its tole on Dean, and he finds his angel friend is very adamant on helping him with recovery. But Dean still finds help a hard thing to accept and trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Me Like You Do

**Author's Note:**

> So, I read a ficlet or two on Tumblr where Dean was being cared for, and I loved them, but I adored the vulnerable and tender nature to those moments when Dean really let his guard down in allowing Castiel to help/take care of him, so I wanted to contribute my own. The Destiel isn't heavy, but its there, discreetly. I'm proud of this~

 

 

“Sam told me he drove you two home.” Castiel stated as he slowly followed behind Dean. He’d returned to the bunker after the clean-up he’d finished on the damage done with their recent job, as well as assuring the families got to safety or home as the ghost they’d been dealing with was finally finished off. His grace only allowed so much anymore, but there were things he could still do; it just took him more time, and a little more human touch to it than it used to.

“Yeah.” was Dean’s simple response as he went and sat in one of the chairs in the study for the moment, though he didn’t attempt to recline back in it. Actually, he was sitting somewhat sideways in it, where his back wouldn’t touch the back of the chair. It didn’t pass Castiel’s notice, nor did the fact that Dean still wore his jacket.

“Are you alright?” the angel asked considerately. There was no challenge or judgment in his tone, only honest worry.

Dean sighed and glanced to Castiel briefly, observing the angel and his worry, before pulling his attention away from it. “Yeah, Cas. I’m good.” He nodded. He popped the top from his beer he’d gotten for himself earlier before Castiel got back, and took a swig.

“…No, you’re not.”

Swallowing the drink, he pulled the bottle from his lip with a slight noise, lips twitched as the tensing of his muscles, in just simple physical reaction to being called out on his bullshit, gave attention (at least only to him he thought) to the stinging pain still raging in lines across his back.

He heard the sound of Castiel’s footsteps, Dean fully aware that he was nearing him and he glanced again, seeing that determined frown on Castiel’s face. He shook his head.

“I’ll be fine.” Dean said. That wouldn’t be as much of a lie. He always was fine eventually, as fine as he could be, after a hard job or hard day.  He was used to just pushing through it. He was used to a lot of things.

“Dean, your time was nearly up, you’d been infected by that Ghost Sickness nearly as long as the other victims; the victims who bleed out from the shredding of their backs from lashing wounds?” Castiel pointed out, and Dean rolled his eyes and put his bottle down, standing and thinking about going to escape to his room.

“Yeah, well, I’m Dean Freakin’ Winchester, and this wasn’t my first rodeo either.”

“Yes, that’s the excuse you gave when we confronted you about purposefully INFECTING yourself with that Sickness.” Castiel accused, stepping after Dean, still slowly, but still as if he would followed, and Dean slowed his path and faced him. “You nearly died the first time. You were just about as close this time. Dean, you are wounded.”

Dean narrowed his gaze, looking very annoyed, but there was a droop in his gaze, or maybe it was more the angle of his head. “I’ve been wounded a million times before, Cas. What’s your point?”

“I can heal you.”

Dean shook his head. “You’ve said your grace gets worn out quicker now, and you just got finished with clean up duty. Just forget about it. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Having dealt with something before does not mean you must continue to endure it.”

Dean shook his head again, a bit more angrily, and he turned away, heading back for his bottle and walking away with some sort of determination. Considering the direction he was going, which wasn’t the direction of his room, it must have just been determination to be alone.

“Drop it, Cas. I don’t need to be babied.” He grumbled, stepping down the steps, only to find his balance waver for a moment and he leaned into the wall beside him in surprise of the sudden loss of coordination and focus. He was feeling increasingly woozy, and he began considering how much blood he’d lost.

Castiel was at his side by the time he began to recover from the dizzy spell, and as the angel reached for his shoulder, Dean moved away, only to hiss from the pain that shot through his back and he walked a few feet away, grumbling, “I said I’m fine, Cas!”

“You are in pain, Dean!” Castiel stated, not backing down, but his steps were still careful and slow, not forceful and determined like his tone was.

“I’m in pain nearly every day, what’s the difference!?” he threw his hands up, regretted the act and groaning inwardly at the pain as well as the slosh of his drink, taking a few strong breaths through his nose as he kept his gaze off the angel who’s stare he could feel boring into him.

“The difference is that I can help, Dean.” Castiel stated so simply, his tone still strong though. “If you’d just allow yourself to allow that help, I could-”

“I don’t need your help.” Dean shot back in attempt to end the discussion, shooting Castiel an aggravated look, only to feel as if ice cubes had just slipped into his stomach at the faintly wounded look on Castiel’s face. He’d hit a sensitive spot, Dean realized now, and perhaps he knew it would have hit Castiel like that in the first place, but he didn’t want to admit it to himself right now.

As Dean lowered his gaze again, Castiel forced his slumped shoulders to straighten. “…You don’t _want_ my help. And you can ‘not want’ it as much as you see fit, Dean. But unless you can give me a good reason that outweighs the risks to your health on why I SHOULDN’T help you, then I will tie you down and do it anyways, if I have to.”

Dean narrowed his gaze and let out an exasperated sigh. He had plenty of reasons, and he started running through them mentally before attempting to voice them in a nearly resigned complaint.

“…I don’t want any bodies help because I can usually handle this crap myself.” He pointed out.

Castiel shrugged, crossing his arms as he said, “Last time I checked, you don’t exactly have the physical capability to clean and cover your wounds without hurting yourself in one way or another. Unless you’ve found a way to double yourself and haven’t informed me or your brother.”

Dean narrowed his gaze with a mixed look of annoyance and pride at Castiel’s level of snark, before he took a breath and sighed, rolling his eyes. “I usually handle it by myself because I can’t trust anybody else to, okay? Can you blame me?”

“No, I can’t.” Castiel answered the rhetorical question, and his tone was soft, sympathetic as he went further as he took a step closer, “You’ve never had anyone who’s been able to handle what you needed them to handle; they’ve either not been capable, or have failed you through absence or betrayal. I can’t blame you for the influence those factors have had on you and your trust of others.”

Dean took a step back, looking offended by Castiel’s blatant explanation for just how well he understood. “Yeah, well, whatever. If I’ve handled it before, I prefer to continue handling it on my own.”

“Except there will be a time when you may not be able to, Dean.” Castiel told him carefully; it was a reluctant truth, but an important one.

“Yeah, well, that day ain’t today.”

“Well, it might be beneficial for the future if you attempt to practice allowing help from others, before you’re too old and tired to put up as much of a fight. It would be horrible if you were to throw a hip out in attempt to avoid someone trying to help you with your back pains.”

Dean laughed, with at least a little humor, shaking his head. “Yeah, because the day will come when back pains and throwing my hip out are the worst possible things to happen to me.”

Castiel watched him with a look, as if he were prepared to argue that that was a possibility, but he didn’t attempt it currently, keeping his mouth in a tight line of determination.

Dean shut his eyes and groaned, dropping his head back faintly, ignoring and wincing only slightly how the bunching skin at his neck stung from the act. “…You’re not going to leave this alone, are you?”

“No.” Castiel informed him, that thin light faintly curving up.

“Then fine, but I’m not doing this willingly, you know.” Dean says, still hesitating a moment before stepping a little closer.

“You can complain the entire time, if it will make you feel better.” Castiel told him, and Dean once again felt a mix of annoyance and pride at the angels sarcasm.

The two of them headed back into study, Castiel reaching the abandoned chair, turning it sideways and setting up another one to face it opposite. He glanced to Dean. “I’ll be right back.” He informed him, and Dean hesitated before nodding and just turned his bottle in his grasp, becoming more and more aware of the steady ache and sting in his back, as well as the heaviness of his shirts that had got soaked in blood. He wouldn’t be surprised if any blood had stained his pants or underwear, too.

He was half finished with his bottle by the time Castiel returned, with a wash cloth and something for cleaning the wound. The man gave him a look.

“No angel mojo?” he asked, and Castiel made a sort of self-conscious look before avoiding Dean’s questioning gaze as he closed the space.

“You were partly right about the lack of usefulness in my power right now.” He admitted reluctantly and Dean was about to make some sort apology or excuse for his dick move before about not needing his help, but Castiel continued. “I can’t help as thorough as I once was able. But, I can still do some good. I can heal you, but it will just take longer, and I thought it best to do what cleaning I could to be safe before I tried to use my own healing.”

Dean nodded faintly. “…Alright.”

Castiel put the saline solution and the wash cloth he’d gathered on the table and then looked to Dean. He reached for him suddenly, taking the collar of Dean’s jacket and tugging it carefully.

Dean was about to question it, more because he was thrown off by Castiel removing any clothes from him, but it was needed to get to the wounds, so he started working it off, wincing nearly the entire time and barely allowing Cas to do much other than catch the jacket when he finally worked it off his arms.

And next was the soaked plaid. Green criss-crossing lines, stained nearly completely across the back and sides in red. Dean didn’t linger his attention on it as he dropped it to the ground, but Castiel did, taking in a breath, which hitched as he laid his eyes on Dean’s black t-shirt. You could tell it was soaked, but due to its color, it wasn’t as much of an intense sight. What was, though, was the tears through the fabric, and what exposed, red, bloody, and torn flesh Castiel could see through the shreds of fabric.

“Well…ain’t wearing this again.” Dean joked, and began working his arm out of a sleeve, but when he let out a loud hiss once he finally succeeded with one, Castiel came to stand in front of him, grabbing at the side and top of the fabric with determination. Huffing, Dean made a small movement against Castiel’s actions. “Cas, I don’t need-”

“The shirt is sticking to your wounds, and you’d have to raise and pull it off on your own. Voice your complaints of personal space and boundaries all you want, but I’m not going to stand by and watch you pain yourself for pure stupidity.” Castiel said, and moved to stand at Dean’s side to figure how to get his shirt off with as little pain as possible.

Dean had already done some of the work by removing one arm, and Castiel observed Dean once over a few times, before figuring it out.  He took the side that was already free of an arm, and began raising it over Dean’s head in the front and at the side as carefully as he could, slow enough that he didn’t yank any of the shredded cloth from where it stuck to his back. He focused more on removing the sticking fabric before he finally got the shirt over Dean’s head and then finally off his back and off his other arm, leaving him bare-chested.

Dean shivered and winced, gripping the bloodied shirt Castiel had handed him and keeping his eyes on that to ignore how uncomfortable this was. Why it was uncomfortable, he didn’t know. He’d been more bare in front of his brother before (on an unfortunate occasion or two for Sam), and had shared plenty of TMI stories with both the angel and his brother, without too much shame. Maybe it was that he’d never really been very bare in front of Castiel before, he was just unused to it. Plus this whole situation was aggravating, so that didn’t help the discomfort.

He heard Castiel take a seat in the chair he’d set up opposite the one he’d been in earlier, and he turned to see Castiel gesture to the empty seat.

“Get comfortable. The process is going to take a little time.” He told him, and Dean rubbed his face and nodded and carefully moved to straddle the chair, aching back facing Castiel as he waited. “This will be painful, but I promise by tonight the pain will be gone.”

 _The physical pain, sure,_ he thought with a scoff, but what came out of his mouth was, “Pain’s my middle name.” he heard the swish of the liquid solution as Castiel was pouring it onto the cloth. He took a breath, wrapping one arm lazily around the back of the chair as he said, “No pain, no gai-s-shhhit!!”

The chair jerked and creaked with Dean’s sudden wince of pain when Castiel gave the first dab at the back of his neck. His arm tightened around the chair, knuckles going white as he huffed. “Fuck, can you warn me next time..!?”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel apologized genuinely. He heard Castiel fidget a bit before he finally gave his warning. “I-I’m starting again, in the same spot…”

Dean lowered his head, already tensed waiting, and he contained another jerk as best he could as Castiel began consistently dabbing down his spine. His other hand balled into a fist against the thigh of his jeans, and it was as if everything was silent, or more drowned out by the pounding of his blood in his ears.

He felt the dabbing stop then and gasped, “Cas…?”

“Dean, you need to breath.” Castiel instructed worriedly.

“I-I was…” Dean defended, realizing he’d actually been holding it for a moment there.

Castiel didn’t make a comment against his lie, he just warned, “I’m starting again. Just try and breath as steady as you can.”

“Sure, Cas, sshhhh…fuck…” he hissed and whispered the curse to himself as Castiel dabbed at a particularly deep lash. He found he was holding his breath again, and he let it shudder out of him before he found the shaky noise almost offensive to his ears. _Nut the fuck up, Winchester,_ he demanded inwardly.

He tried not to be unnerved with how Castiel’s next bit of healer-advice seemed to relate to his thoughts far too closely to be coincidental.

“Pain is a normal human reaction, Dean, you don’t need to be ashamed of reacting normally to it.”

Dean glanced back at Castiel with a weary glare, which Castiel caught with that considerate blue gaze. The blue seemed to cloud for a moment, as he briefly shrunk back from Dean’s look, but he dropped his eyes to Dean’s wound, before looking back at the man. “What I mean is you don’t have to be ashamed, here.” And the look in the angels eyes conveyed that he didn’t mean here as in the bunker, but here as in with him. He didn’t have to act like the soldier he’d been all his life with Castiel, and Dean had grown to realize that some time ago. It didn’t break his habit, though, it only…let him slip in to the moments when they were really needed for his sanity, to let himself experience them. Because Castiel could understand like no one else could. Soldier to Soldier, it was easier between them to see things and accept them, without it tainting their view of them as a whole.

Dean looked ahead once more, though. Just because he knew this between Castiel and himself, didn’t mean that this had to be one of those moments. He just took a breath and sighed, the sigh turning into a hiss as Castiel was dabbing Dean’s right side now.

Castiel eventually sighed, as Dean’s breathing continued to either be held in, or let out dramatically, only meaning he’d hold it in longer the next time, if only to keep from making a noise like that again. He stopped his dabbing, and Dean barely relaxed. He’d prefer the steady discomfort to continuous pauses before returning to the pain. He glanced to see Castiel pouring more saline onto another part of the cloth, the only part that wasn’t already so damned soaked. Speaking of soaked, the pause allowed Dean to really register how the solution was soaking into the tops of his pants and underwear as well. Did he just have to have an entire outfit ruined?

“If you’d like, you can talk about your complaints. Do something to force you to regulate your breathing.” Castiel told him, the considerate softness giving way to more of a strict sternness to get his point across. “You’ve lost enough blood, and I can tell this is very painful right now; we don’t need anything else adding to reasons you might pass out.”

“Yes sir, Dr. Sexy.” Dean remarked sarcastically in jest of Castiel’s orders having to do with the well-being of him health-wise, before regretting it as he felt the flush to his neck and face, which was surprising any sort of blood could rush from embarrassment, with how much he’d lost so far. He was very aware of how silent Castiel had went and didn’t dare glance back at the angels reaction. Not bothering trying to explain or excuse away his remark (more, bad joke, as Castiel had no idea of the source material, to Dean’s knowledge), he just rested his forehead on his forearm as Castiel started again.

To drown out the very loud silence that was screaming his remark back at him, he took Castiel’s suggestion and started talking.

“I really don’t like this…” he stated, gritting his teeth a moment, head still down, and when Castiel made no response and just continued his work, he continued his talking, taking a breath as he spoke. “I’d rather just fucking deal with this crap myself unless or until I absolutely can’t…”

There was a brief pause, just a second, before the dabbing continued, moving back to the middle once again. Castiel obviously wasn’t going to argue with anything; at least he was going to try not to.

Dean took a breath through his nose and went on. “It’s also freaking cold.” As if his body were trying to emphasize his complaint, he shivered and winced, Castiel halting before continuing. “My clothes are ruined.”

“I can handle those as well.”

“Well aren’t you just Fix It Felix.”

“Who?”

“Nobody, Cas.” He shook his head and sighed, resting the side of his face on his forearm and zoning out his vision now and again as he watched across the room. “You know, you say normal people have normal reactions to pain. And sure, normal people take help, but I’m not normal people. I never have been. So I think that gives me an excuse.”

Castiel let Dean make his point, and as the man didn’t try to push that excuse as a free pass, he faintly smiled and kept his focus.

“At least it should. I mean, all the crap I’ve done…I’ve been through…I think I should be allowed some leeway with some stuff, you know?”

Castiel made a noise, one that Dean couldn’t decipher if it was agreement, disagreement, or just a noise in response to what he was saying just to sate Dean and let him know he was listening.

Wincing and hissing as Castiel was reaching his left side now, he banged his forehead lightly on his forearm. “Yeah, that was a real smart move though with the ghost sickness, huh?” he asked sarcastically, but then his boots skidded on the ground as his body reacted to the attention to deeper wounds. He shuddered out a pained groaned and huffed.

“I’m sorry, Dean..”

“My own damn fault.” Dean spat, though somehow it sounded as if the blame in his voice weighed on anything and everything just as much as him. He sighed and shuddered again. “Gotta take care of everything. It’s how it’s always been.” He rubbed his forehead back and forth on his forearm as his entire body was tensed and hurting, aching with pain while Castiel dabbed specific and intense pain down in lines. Swallowing down a tightness in his throat, he went on, more to ignore the pain than to really keep speaking of things he usually didn’t. “Gotta feed Sammy, gotta wash Sammy. Gotta protect the kids and families while dad deals with the monsters. Gotta protect Sammy, gotta take care of him. Gotta clean his scraps, soothe his nightmares, ease his pains… I gotta take care of him, I gotta take care of the whole damn WORLD.” His free, clenched fists pounded down on his thigh in a physical reaction to more than one kind of pain and discomfort.

He suddenly felt cool fingertips briefly graze over the arm, as if reaching for the clenched fist, and he glanced down to see Castiel’s hand, then looked back to the angel when he retracting his hand, as if questioning him.

“Don’t… You don’t have to, Dean.” He spoke, clearing his throat.

Dean gave him a look, turning away as he argued, “Yeah, I do.”

“No, you don’t. Ever since the moment you defied your pledged of loyalty to Heaven, and you went to help your brother against Lilith, your responsibility has been your own. You tore up the rule book, as you’ve put it, and burned the pages. YOU choose what is yours to take care of, to protect, to care about. And the moment you choose to stop…you ARE allowed. You’ve EARNED that much. If Heaven no longer rules you, then your father’s instilled responsibilities shouldn’t, either.”

That hit him in the gut, and he didn’t respond for a while. He swallowed hard, and kept his attention ahead, saying nothing and just breathing in and out, wincing and huffing now and again.

Nearly finished with his left side, Castiel broke the silence.

“…When you exposed yourself to that Sickness, Dean…you knew the similarities that tied the victims together… You knew it was the…responsibility they all shouldered, and how they lived their lives because of that. You wanted to be a clue, to help the case, but you were so sure that your experiences, your responsibilities were enough like theirs for it to affect you…?”

“…Well, yeah.” Dean responded gruffly. It seemed so obvious. “Those assholes, they did everything, and their life was made hard, made sour because of it, and it twisted them, they couldn’t appreciate what they had, they couldn’t just be HAPPY, they…” he stopped, the rest of the similarities caught in his throat and he couldn’t swallow it down. He shut his eyes, rubbing his forehead again. He knew very well how he worked, and he preferred ignoring it; he tried to play happy, and strong, and cocky, and as if he had it all figured out. But most the time, that was such a god damn act. Dean knew it, once they recognized the Sickness, and Sam had caught on to the similarities, Dean knew what he had to do. Those sons of bitches died because they more often hated the world and most the people in it, if not felt sour to most, because they’d carried more than their fair share. And no one had ever helped them. No one was good enough to help them. No one could be absolutely and unconditionally trusted to help them.

Dean could understand. He felt guilt somewhere inside him; at least for not being able to trust Sam, but his reason outweighed his guilt. He trusted Sam with his life, and that was enough. He didn’t have to trust Sam with his well-being. He’d shouldered that all his life, with Sam’s well-being weighing on top of his.

The angel continued to dab, and with a grumbled, Dean continued to let him.

“You don’t have to be them, Dean.” Castiel stated after some silence, dabbing down Dean’s left side, and he was careful and slow with it. He wasn’t sure if it made it worse, but Dean was twitching and wincing too much, his muscles tightening until his body would go limp for a second and Castiel worried he’d had too much pain and might pass out.

“T-them?”

“Who those victims were. Who the ghost was; the ghost was wrongly punished for his outrage at acquaintances of his, for how they wronged him and judged him despite all he’d done… That man died from wounds beyond what he deserved, but he still took due to guilt and stubbornness and rage, took until the grave.”

“Point to the reminder, Cas?”

“You’re not them. That’s not you, and that won’t be your fate.”

Dean shook his head, but gave no verbal argument. Some details may be different, but he didn’t doubt that his end would come bloody, and it’d come hard, and it’d come painful. If it wasn’t like the hell-hounds, then it’d be worse. And he was ready for that.

As ready as he could be.

Castiel stopped dabbing. Dean glanced back, unsure if the angel was done or preparing more of an argument. Dean assumed both as the angel went on and he rolled his eyes.

“That man was angry with the world, while shouldering crushing guilt… I did not raise you from perdition for that to be your fate, Dean.”

“You raised me for the God Squad’s mission, Cas.” Dean reminded him.

“I raised you for more than that, Dean.” Castiel snapped back in correction, as if aggravated with Dean’s assumption and presumption, and Dean didn’t even dare to look back to see how Castiel may be watching him or looking, though that did beg to question as to what Castiel meant. What other reasons could Castiel have had in hell for raising him, other than it being his orders?

“You have showed me possibilities Dean. Endlessly, you have. You have shown me hope, truer faith, and family where I never understood it before.”

Dean was silent and still, unsure how to even respond to any of that. Despite his knee-jerk need to argue how in the HELL he could have shown Castiel hope or faith whatsoever, when he felt he didn’t even have it in himself, he kept it in. He just brought his other arm to rest over the one that had been holding the back of the chair, as Castiel went on.

“You have showed me it’s alright to question orders….to question purpose, to question PROGRAMING from those I was meant to follow, if I knew deep down something was wrong…”

Dean swallowed, finding he was listening more intently as Castiel went on, though he still didn’t dare look back at the angel.

“And you have showed me the importance of loyalty…of friends…of family. And that family has to _be_ there for one another. Dean, you’ve been there for everyone else. Let us be here for you in return.”

The thought of allowing it of anyone, it just made him feel wrong, and then a voice in the back of his mind asked…why? There was just something nervous and defiant that twisted in his stomach. Something scared, too. Struggling with how to respond, because he almost felt he should, a voice in the back of his head reminded him, _You’re already letting Cas._

He just sighed, and gave a short, single nod, relaxing again for Castiel to continue with whatever his next task was. He’d gone this far, and it hadn’t been entirely impossible. Slightly unbearable, but he’d made it this far. Might as well go all the way.

His shoulders un-tensed, unlike they had this entire time.

Shutting his eyes, Dean began to feel that familiar presence of Castiel’s grace, and at first, it had him on edge, like the cool touch of aloe on a sunburn. It felt piercing in a strange way usually, and on such exposed wounds as these, the piercing was intense, but what usually followed was this warm ease that also somehow felt as cool as an icepack all at once. But, the piercing was lasting a little longer, and as he huffed, he was about to ask Castiel what was up before he reminded himself, Castiel’s grace wasn’t what it used to be. He said it would take longer.

He took in a breath, and sighed it out, doing that over and over was he really thought about what Castiel was doing. The dude had to be tired from what he’d done to clear up their mess from the case, and yet he was exerting more energy, for an extended period of time, just so Dean could be free of the pain and ache in his back?

He shuddered again and swallowed hard, shutting his eyes tight.

“I’m sorry, Dean…it will stop hurting soon, I promise.”

“No, it’s not…that…” Dean corrected before stopping himself. It wasn’t the pain that made him shudder, but he didn’t exactly want to voice what it was. It was hard even feeling it. “You’re fine…”

“..Alright…” Castiel sounded suspicious, but trusting enough.

Dean tried to ignore how those knots and twists in his stomach seemed to be coming slowly undone, and just focused on the pace of Castiel’s grace. Taking in a breath, he could feel Castiel hovering his healing hands over his wounds, and he could feel his grace reach to the skin and into him to mend the damage. It was a slow, lingering process, especially as Castiel’s hands were moving progressively all over his back, hovering, to make sure he was mending enough of his back.

Dean’s breathing was evening out, finally coming in and out in a steady rhythm with little to no hitches. There was a new ache in his back, but one he was willing to deal with, from sitting in this position this long thus far. If that was the tradeoff for getting rid of the lashes, he was fine with it. He laughed then, reminded of Castiel painting the picture of him, older and achier, throwing his hip out because he didn’t want anyone babying his back pains. The idea seemed really ridiculous, the more he thought about it. And for some reason, he really started thinking about it, a sad smile settling on his face as he imagined his brother at that point. He’d either be as achy as him, or he’d been one of those freaky old dudes that were health nuts and able to do damn splits and gymnastic leaps and bounds. Either way, Dean preferred imagining him curled up with a damn fine greying broad.

Which left it to Cas, un-aging angel, having to follow around a grumpy geezer, and he found himself chuckling so much his shoulders shook and disrupted Castiel’s healing, causing him to stop for the moment. There was still a decent bit of pain in Dean’s back, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that a tear leaked from the edge of his eye, either from the pain or from his humor, his stomach starting to hurt the more he laughed, pulling the twisting knots more loose.

“Dean…?” Castiel questioned. “What’s so funny? Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, Cas, I’m…” he laughed, shaking his head and ‘hehe’ing to himself, before letting out the contained laughter a little more. “I’m fine, Cas.”

Castiel’s brows pulled in confusion, but something about Dean’s laughter was so genuine and pure that it tugged a half smile from his lips.

“Sorry, man, keep going _,_ I just, uh….was thinking about the hip thing, and back pains.” He tried to explain shortly, laughing more and the laughter faintly interrupted when Castiel continued as a contented, sighed moan mingled with the laughter.

“I didn’t think that was that much of a joke.” Castiel remarked, but not in judgment, just in honesty. It had him very curious as to why Dean found it so funny.

“Oh, but imagining a little nerd angel following me around like a pouting puppy in my old age is fucking HILARIOUS.”

Castiel’s smile softened, shaking his head at Dean’s humor. The image was entertaining, he considered, though he wondered if Dean realized how possible that future could be. He didn’t comment on it.

Dean’s laughter was the only sound for the next few minutes, as he would calm and then remember and then laugh, and then calm and remember again. Once, his laughter was so abrupt and pure, it pulled a faint chuckle from the angel as well, who genuinely smiled where Dean couldn’t see.

Eventually, Dean sighed again contently, Castiel’s grace really starting to feel warm. Warmer than before. And deeper. His skin felt tender to the increasing, warm pressure on his back feeling as if it were rubbing in motions. It wasn’t until Dean’s ease was really setting in, so much that he was resting with his eyes shut laying his head on his arms, that he began to realize the warm pressure was no longer a shapeless blotch as it had begun as, but was now the very specific shape of the angel’s hands.

The knots started pulling tight again in his stomach as he realized Castiel was massaging his back.

Swallowing, he glanced back at Castiel with confusion and apprehension in his eyes. “C-Cas, you don’t…if you’ve healed me, you’re done….”

Castiel’s hands stopped around Dean’s lower back, near his sides, and Dean felt very aware of it, his body stiffening again. Castiel’s brows furrowed as he looked at Dean and Dean looked back.

“…You were relaxed before you realized what I was doing. Am I hurting or offending you?” Castiel asked, and though he seemed if he wanted to continue for Dean, he removed his hands.

Dean wouldn’t admit how he so automatically missed their presence, their pressure, their warmth, their…care. The knots twisted strangely and it almost hurt, but he still watched Cas. “You…not exactly Cas, it’s just… I’m not used to it, from….from anyone. It’s a little weird, I guess…”

Castiel smirked. Actually smirked, even if it was faint. “I thought weird was in your job description.” He offered, but he stood from where he’d been sitting, and grabbed the bloody cloth and the solution, as well as Dean’s ruined clothes.

He looked Dean over, lingering on his face the most before he nodded awkwardly and turned and left.

Dean sat there for some time, trying to assess himself and the situation. He sat up, hearing a few pops in his back, and he felt a rush of relief fall to the pit of his stomach to pull at the knots when his body registered little to no pain in his back anymore. He reached behind himself, and apart from faint, thin lines, there felt as if there was no trace of the lashes he’d worn all the way home.

Dean stood from his chair, grabbing his beer as the dryness of his throat became extremely apparent, as did the coolness of the air to his exposed skin. He shuddered and took a long swig from his bottle before making his way down the hall, intent on finding a shirt at least. After, he wasn’t sure. He needed to say something to Cas, he knew that. He gave the dude hell, and he was pain free right now, he deserved a thanks. And as weird as it may have been to have the angel freakin’ massaging him, it was…it was still something to help and something that, honestly, felt _really_ good. Something that Dean almost wanted continued, but Cas had done enough. More than enough for Dean’s personal standards, how could he ask him for more?

But the turning and pulling and releasing of those knots in his stomach were VERY fucking annoying and VERY fucking confusing, and he found himself seeking the angel before his shirt instead, tossing his beer bottle in what trash-can he saw first on his way.

He found Castiel in one of the bathrooms, attempting to personally clean everything but the torn up shirt. Dean wondered if Castiel was doing the same as what he’d done with his back. Starting with a personal touch, and then using his grace.

He leaned against the doorway of the bathroom, and it wasn’t until the cloth was washed to at least a pink shade before Castiel realized Dean’s presence. Eyes wide with surprised, he turned around, turned the water of the sink off, and then turned back to Dean again.

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing at all.” Dean shook his head. Why he wasn’t getting to the point, he didn’t know. Perhaps he was secretly admiring how human Castiel seemed right now. He also didn’t know why he would want to admire that, so he just kept it to himself.

Castiel nodded, but still looked confused, and quirked his head. “…Did you…need something…? Did you want to handle the clothes yourself? I promise, I won’t ruin them.”

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “No, I trust you, Cas.” He told him, and the knots loosened in his stomach as he really tasted how those words rolled off his tongue. He narrowed his gaze at the angel. “…I trust you.”

Castiel, not fully understanding the entirety, still understood enough to catch that the second admittance of trust meant more than was put into words. But that’s how Dean worked, and he knew Dean’s language well enough. What poets could spend pages and pages writing and describing and expressing, Dean could sum up in a single statement and it would make just as much sense. And possibly hold more beautiful resonance with the angel.

As Dean continued to stand though, Castiel just nodded in recognition of his admittance, and returned to his work, working next on Dean’s plaid shirt.

Dean stood there some time longer, folding his arms across his still bare chest, and though spotting himself, torso bare, in the mirror did sent a wave of self-consciousness over him, he ignored it. He watched Castiel work the shirt in the water as best he could, until he couldn’t take it any longer.

“H-hey, Cas?”

The angel turned the water off and turned to Dean again, and he almost expected exasperation or annoyance at being interrupted. There was nothing of the sort. “Yes, Dean?”

He swallowed. He wanted to look away, he wanted to turn around and walk away. But the knots in his stomach wouldn’t stop tightening, and he wanted to know what it’d be like to go to sleep without his stomach twisting and turning him all night.

“What you were doing earlier…”

“I know… I should have asked if it was alright, it…it was a boundary, I understand, I just assumed it would help,” Castiel was going on, lowering his gaze in guilt, “that it would soothe and I thought it would be beneficial, but I should have-”

“Could you…” Dean began strongly to cut him off, but then the question was caught in his throat, and there was a weak flush to his cheeks and shoulders, bringing out the freckles speckled there. He cleared his throat. “…You too tired to continue…?”

The surprise was evident on Castiel’s face, and he seemed as if he would have put forth the effort to question it, mouth opening as if to say something. But it registered strongly with him, the fact that Dean had honestly just asked him that, and he shut his mouth and nodded carefully.

“….You could continue, or you’re too tired to?” Dean asked with faint amusement, but his voice shook with foreign nerves.

Castiel flushed himself this time, and he shook his head, cleared his throat, and went through a whole moment of awkwardness that pulled a chuckle and a smile from Dean as he finally clarified. “I-yes, I can do it, I’m not too tired.”

Dean nodded with a laugh, then cleared his throat, looking down at the ground and then around. “So, uh…whenever you’re done, or…uh…where…?”

“Where ever is best for you.” Castiel assured him with a nod. He took the shirt in his hand, though, as if he intended on finishing his work and Dean got the message.

“Yeah, okay. Um…alright, then, I’ll be in my room.” With that, he turned and left without another word or a second glance. Part of him would have loved, for amusements sake, to see Castiel’s reaction to where Dean chose, but he also found he wasn’t sure he wanted to see it. The thought twisted the knots in his stomach differently.

 

Settling at the foot of his bed, Dean waited. And the longer he waited, he considered going to find Cas and just tell him never mind. But he didn’t want to hurt the guys feelings, and despite the awkward nervousness, he still wanted to…try and continue. He wanted to see how it could help him.

And those knots pulled tight in a strange stroke of fear. He WANTED help. He’d allowed help from Cas, and he wanted more. Everything in him said that wasn’t right, but Castiel’s voice was echoing in his head, telling him he didn’t have to be that person, he didn’t have to hold that responsibility. He didn’t have to do everything for himself, alone, with no help. Damned if he had good reason to doubt peoples capabilities, but that didn’t mean he should be denied the chances to just…

Be at peace. That’s what he felt as Castiel was finishing his healing, or transitioning from healing to massaging, it was a silent, unspoken, indescribable peace that had been coming for him. It didn’t sit right with Dean that anyone could give that to him and make him want it so much, but he really didn’t feel like denying it right now. At least to himself. He’d deny it to pretty much anyone else. Except the angel. Maybe.

When the angel finally made his reappearance, he was dressed a bit more down. Why, Dean didn’t know. Maybe he dirtied his trench coat, but even the jacket was gone. The angel didn’t get hot in those layers, he never did, even in situations where Dean would think that shit got unbearable.

He swallowed, allowing his gaze to really take in the look of the angel, before he said softly, “…Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean…” he nodded, entering the room hesitantly. “Are you sure about this?”

Dean made a face and laughed awkwardly, then gave the angel a look like ‘really?’. Did he have to make this sound like they were two virgins about to do it?

Had it even really sounded like that, or was Dean’s mind just that twisted or weird that even simple phrases from his best friend sent him into gutter scenarios?

He just dismissed it with an eye-roll. “Yeah, Cas, I’m sure.”

Castiel watched him, somewhat doubtful for a moment, before nodding and nearing him, and then stopping short and looking at the spot beside Dean and nodding towards it. “Sh….should I..?”

“Actually, uh…” Dean began, clearing his throat and he stood off his bed, going to the head of it slowly but surely before looking back to Cas. “Um…not to make this awkward on you, but, uh… I mean, that honestly felt nice earlier,” his neck felt really warm with the admittance but he cleared his throat AGAIN and continued, “…so nice that I could probably drift off, you know, and uh…just thought maybe it’d make sense to be in the best position for that scenario. So you don’t have to carry me like the baby I am right now and tuck me in.” He laughed off the comment, but he honestly felt more and more stupid about this as he spoke.

“It wouldn’t be awkward.” Castiel stated, as if it were so simple, and Dean guessed it was to him. “Just…find what position is best for you, and I’ll follow suit.”

Again, man? Dean’s mind + Castiel’s simple statements = straight down the gutter.

Dean just nodded and climbed into bed, having already changed into some sweatpants and new underwear, the other pants and underwear in a hamper, which he hoped Cas would leave alone. The dude had done and was about to do enough. He drew the line at laundering his ‘delicates’.

Dean finally got comfortable, covered just half on one leg just in preparation, but he sat near the head of the bed, close to the pillows but not completely. He seemed ready to turn, once Castiel had settled on the bed, so he’d be in a similar leaning position as before.

He felt the weight dip the bed faintly as Castiel began to climb on the bed, and he glanced and noticed the angel was still wearing his shoes.

“Dude! Loose the shoes.” He complained dramatically, and Castiel made a face before complying, undoing the shoes and kicking them off before climbing into bed, settling behind Dean in a cross-legged position.

Dean nodded, and turned his back to Cas, grabbing a pillow to hold in his arms, just to mimic his previous position, completely dismissing the fact that he was hugging a pillow.

“So yeah, uh, just…go ahead.” Dean gave him the okay, and with only a few seconds passing with little movement and no contact, soon Dean felt the warm and deep touch of the angel’s hands and fingers, starting where they’d stopped before at his lower back. Dean shuddered, though he tried his best to contain it.

“…Was that wrong, Dean?” Castiel asked worriedly.

“No…no, its fine, just…go ahead.” Dean mumbled over the pillow, curled over enough to allow Castiel his entire back, resting his head into the pillow, eyes only faintly open as the angel worked his back around his spine, up his sides, close to his sides (he almost feared he was going to put pressure on a ticklish spot, but no such problem occurred—it was like his fingers knew just where to go and what to do). Soon, he reached Dean’s shoulder blades, giving plenty and deep attention there.

Next was his shoulders and his neck. Dean’s breath hitched initially, and Castiel’s touch lessened, as if he were worried. But Dean just shut his eyes tight, ignored the awkward curl in his stomach, and he sighed his contentment and Castiel continued, Dean almost rolling his neck to allow Cas EVERY spot that his fingers sought out before they returned to his back.

The knots in his stomach were just nearly untangled by now, and Dean took an even breath in, and then back out, clutching the pillow tighter.

And there it was, as he felt the angels hands rubbing and touching and almost holding him in their work, all of it so secure and sure and deep, tender and caring, and Dean felt that peace rushing to pool in his stomach. It came over him like a warm blanket, and he felt his eye lids had become increasingly heavy, so much so that he didn’t even try to raise them.

“Hey….Cas…?” he asked, his drowsiness evident in his low tone.

“Yes…?”

“…Thank you.”

There was silence for a moment, before Dean heard Castiel’s response, and he could hear the faint smile in his tone. “Don’t mention it.”

Dean chuckled lazily, and he heard Castiel’s brief laughter.

He didn’t know when or how coherently he’d chosen to do this, but soon he found himself lying on the pillow, flat on his bed, with Castiel scooted beside him and his hands still working his back. The guy never stopped, he’d worked Dean’s back up and down…he hadn’t been counting, or maybe he had and he couldn’t remember, but he’d done it a lot. And he kept going, Dean just on the edge of sleep. Dean wondered if Castiel realized without him saying, that falling asleep had been his plan; he suspected it was a yes, because Castiel seemed intent on working him into slumber.

He took a deep breath in, and let it just as deeply out, feeling all control and feeling in his limbs going, lending over to slumber.

“..I can leave whenever, Dean…” he faintly heard Castiel offer.

He hummed before answering.

“I trust you, Cas.”


End file.
